


Loss of Heart

by Jassy



Series: Heart [1]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 03:44:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17399414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jassy/pseuds/Jassy
Summary: Harry survived Valentine's bullet, but spent a year working to uncover a threat to Kingsman itself. His survival was kept a secret from everyone except for two - neither of them Eggsy. What happens when Eggsy is unable to forgive such a betrayal of his trust?





	Loss of Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry to Merlin fans - I swear I actually do like him! I wanted to do my own take on a fandom trope, and it took me in an unexpected direction. Merlin isn't actually a bad guy here, just a bit blind and arrogant in his own judgement. Er. Sorry!

Eggsy stopped in the doorway and stared, frankly astonished. Seated behind the desk – Arthur’s desk – was Harry fucking Hart. Who was supposed to be dead for a good year now. Beside him, Merlin stood stiffly at attention. Both men wore wary looks, eyeing him like an unstable bomb. The shock wore off more swiftly than Eggsy would have guessed, if anyone had ever posed this situation as a hypothetical to him. “So. Arthur.” He inclined his head ever so slightly. He fastened his gaze on Merlin. “Do I get to know why?”

Merlin cleared his throat. “There were a number of extenuating circumstances…”

“So that’s a no, then. Right. So do I have a mission or was this just an informational meeting?”

“No mission at present,” Har – Arthur said, voice oddly gentle. There was a scar, rather prominent, along his left temple. So at least the entire thing hadn’t been completely faked. That was something. Eggsy rather viciously hoped it had hurt a _lot_.

“Then call me when there is one.” He turned his back and carefully shut the door. At the end of the hall, Roxy was wringing her hands, face pale and anxious. Eggsy walked towards her, stride loose and easy. “Roxy?”

“Oh, Eggsy, I wanted to tell you,” she burst out.

“How long you known, then?” he demanded.

“Nine months,” she said, then bit her lip.

“Nine. Months.” Nine months of him still grieving, living with bitter regrets and what ifs that ate at his gut like acid. He looked down at the hand she put on his arm, then deliberately shook it off with the slightest curl of his lip. “See you around, Lancelot.” She flinched. He brushed by her and didn’t look back.

He ignored the cab waiting outside for him and let his feet take him wherever while his mind worked. He had obviously been horribly, gravely wrong about Kingsman. It was a dirty job, yes. Spying wasn’t like it was in the movies, all hot women, cool gadgets, and car chases. There was a lot of tricking people, gaining and betraying of trust, and quiet assassinations made to look like heart attacks and such. He had accepted that he himself could be the target of such tactics from others, so outside friendships were always treated with suspicion, which made having any kind of meaningful relationship with a non-Kingsman almost impossible. He had even suspected that he was watched by his own people and had viewed it more as being watched over than merely watched. He had placed his trust in them and thought he’d been given trust in return. This? This just showed how wrong he’d been. The mission was always first, and they hadn’t trusted him to know about the mission, whatever it had been. They had kept him in the dark, and now he was supposed to just salute and carry on, like everything was normal. The only problem, of course, was that _he_ no longer trusted any of _them_. If they couldn’t be counted on to keep his feelings at least in second place to the mission, then he was little more than a disposable tool.

Oddly enough, he was not okay with that.

~

“That went better than expected,” Merlin observed, sounding genuinely relieved.

Harry flashed him an incredulous look. “That was far worse than expected, actually.”

“The lad is angry, true, but it’s not like he quit on the spot or attempted to kill either of us,” Merlin protested.

“Either of which is preferable to his having shut down so thoroughly. Fuck! You should have told him, Merlin,” Harry snarled, not for the first time.

“We were all being watched, and the lad wears his heart on his sleeve,” Merlin shot back, also not for the first time.

“He would have been well able to conceal his feelings, particular with the stakes explained to him. Lancelot certainly did so.”

“Roxy isn’t in love with you.”

Harry flinched inwardly. “All the more motivation for him. And now we’ve betrayed him. We have no idea how extreme his reaction will eventually be.”

Merlin just scoffed.

Harry watched. It was more than intrusive, how closely he watched the young man. He followed his tracker through the city, day after day, noting how often he seemed to go for random walks, or even the more vigorous free running. He took note of his visits to his mother and sister, and how often he went to the shops. He noted how he declined every phone call from Roxy, though the young woman persisted daily in her attempts. He compared all of it to his behavior from the prior months and couldn’t detect more than a slight deviation in routine – the increased free running, which at least offered a physical outlet for whatever stress and anger he had to be feeling.

Reluctantly, after a month of basically stalking the lad via tracking chip and CCTV, he assigned him a mission. Eggsy presented himself promptly, suit immaculate, not a hair out of place. He didn’t hesitate to meet Harry’s gaze, nor Merlin’s, though his own blue eyes were shuttered and cold. His tone was perfectly correct, polite and even, with no hint of anger or disgust or any other discernable emotion in it.

He performed _flawlessly_ on mission, obtaining the evidence they needed to pass on to MI6 to allow that organization to make the arrests that were needed.

In short, Eggsy gave Harry no excuse to ground him. Not one chink that he could use to spark a proper argument and maybe bleed off some of the poison that he knew instinctively was flooding the young man’s veins. He was all but forced to give him a new mission, and another after that one. With each passing day, he could feel something sliding through his fingers as he searched hopelessly for something to hold onto.

Before he knew it, six months had passed with the odd status quo that Eggsy had imposed without most of Kingsman being aware of it. Merlin, though he obviously noted the lack of friendly banter and the stiff refusal by Eggsy to socialize with _any_ person in Kingsman, seemed to think things were going well. Was of the opinion that Eggsy would thaw and let them back in, one by one. The rest of Kingsman seemed to take his opinion as gospel, and Harry wanted to tear his hair out and scream at them to open their fucking eyes! Eggsy was already gone, and the cold machine in his place was just biding its time until _something_ happened. Merlin was usually right, usually had a solid grasp of everyone after seeing them through training and all the stress that shaped them into their professional selves.

But Eggsy came from a different world, cut from a different cloth. He’d been shaped by wholly different stresses before he’d set foot on Savile Row.

There was a ticking in the background, and Harry could hear it speeding up. Although absolutely nothing changed in Eggsy’s patterns, Harry could feel it. Whatever Eggsy had been planning, it was very nearly time for it. Half out of his mind with desperation, he caught the young man on his way out for an over seas mission. “Eggsy, please. Can we speak?”

“Arthur,” Eggsy said, pausing with his head tilted to the side in polite enquiry.

“Eggsy, you deserve to know why.”

“Merlin did say there were extenuating circumstances,” Eggsy said coolly. “I had gathered that was my explanation.”

“From Merlin,” Harry agreed. “He was running things for that year. Now I am, and I refuse to continue to follow his judgement in this. Between Chester and Charlie, information about Kingsman was leaked. Not just our existence, but information on all of us. You know we lost Bors and Tristan shortly after V-Day – that’s why. As the only one with the rock solid alibi of being dead, I was tasked with finding out who knew and was eliminating us. Merlin thought that, if you knew, you would behave differently and tip off the people watching all of you that we knew what was up. They would have started looking more closely and potentially found me out.”

Eggsy blinked at him. “Right. Anything else?”

“I _am_ sorry. I wanted to tell you.” Harry clenched his fist, resisting the urge to pull Eggsy closer, to yank him into the hug as he’d wanted to do from the day he’d come back. “I should have told you, and damn the consequences,” he finished quietly.

Eggsy just shrugged. “Weren’t mine to know, apparently. Is that all, Arthur? I do have a clock for this one.”

Reluctantly, Harry stepped back. “Of course. We can discuss this later, when you’ve returned.”

“If you like.” Without a backward glance, Eggsy continued on his way, striding down the hall without a hitch in his step.

Swearing a blue streak, Harry strode in the opposite direction, straight to ops. He stabbed a finger at Merlin. “You! I want you to personally monitor every second of his mission. I want his tracker information constantly watched. And do _not_ ,” he added when the other man all but rolled his eyes at him, “give me any bullshit about how he’s fine, Hamish. He is not fine, he’s smarter than most of us here, and there is no telling what he’ll do. _You were wrong._ And so was I, for listening to you. Do it!”

Merlin held up his hands in surrender, turning to his elaborate console to start working. Eggsy’s usual handler, a younger woman named Carly, bit her lip as she looked back and forth between them. Harry speared her with a look. “You’ll assist,” he bit out. “I want double eyes on this one, the entire time. Am I understood?” She nodded, a little frantically, and spun back to her own layout to call up the same feeds as Merlin.

With a final glare around the room, he turned to head for his own office. He ignored the work piled up and waiting for him in favor of calling up the same feeds as the others. He followed Eggsy’s progress as the plane flew him southwest, heading for the coast of South America. There had been a sharp increase in drugs being brought into the UK in recent months, and Eggsy was posing as a small-time distributer looking to increase his operation. He’d managed to make a connection with another distributer who was willing to make an introduction, provided Eggsy kept out of his territory and preferred product. As Eggsy was playing up the gentleman dealer role, of course he’d agreed to such an arrangement, knowing full well that his connection planned to double cross him and take over his territory once it was sufficiently expanded, the hard work done.

Harry hardly budged from his desk for the next 48 hours. He got up to take care of basic necessities, and allowed himself to doze during the parts where Eggsy himself dozed. So he was right there to watch Eggsy meet his contact, there as Eggsy was driven to a small sea side resort, watched him shepherded onto a lavish private yacht, and as he sailed out to sea. By the time land was no longer even a glimmer on the horizon, Harry was coiled tighter than a spring. He caught a glimpse through Eggsy’s glasses feed of a long, dark shape beneath the boat when it was anchored, and then everything went to shit. There was shouting, then gun fire, then Eggsy swearing and fighting for his life. He didn’t have anything besides his signet ring and a single lighter on him – what use was there for an umbrella on board such a lavish yacht? – but still acquitted himself admirably against the armed thugs that swarmed him. His light, summer weight suit still absorbed the bullets, but could do little against fists, feet, and knives. There was nowhere for him to go, extraction wasn’t even a blip on the radar, since even a hint of unusual air traffic would have queered the whole deal. The yacht was quite large, and held a truly impressive number of men.

Eggsy was young, strong, highly trained, and very creative. But even he had the odds stacked against him. Harry was gouging the wood of his desk with his nails while he watched Eggsy fight for his life, right up until a rather savage kick removed the glasses from his face. They went over the edge and transmitted nothing more than a view of the marine life, idly swimming gracefully under the waves. Harry switched to watching the vital signs from his tracker. Down in ops, he knew Merlin and Carly would be repositioning a satellite to try to get a view of that little speck of ocean, but it would likely be too late. His heartrate and breathing remained elevated, strong heart pumping fast with the adrenaline of someone fighting for their life. Then it flatlined.

Moments later, the still transmitting glasses caught the edge of an explosion. Harry watched, numb with shock and grief, as debris and bodies sank beneath the surface, the latter giving the sharks that were present a nice feast.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, staring at the flatline of Eggsy’s tracker. When he finally looked away from it, he noticed first his hands. He’d gripped and gouged the desk so hard that he’d ripped off half of his fingernails, leaving the desk sticky with half dried blood. The splinters embedded in his nail beds stung distantly. He looked up to see Merlin, Carly, and Roxy all staring at him, faces grey, and in the case of the ladies, eyes red from crying.

“He might have faked it,” Merlin said, voice hoarse. “You said yourself, he’s been planning something –“

“If you don’t wish to find yourself retired,” Harry heard himself say, “you will all remove yourself from this office.”

“Harry….”

“You will address me as Arthur. After all,” he added, bite finally entering his tone, “you worked so hard to cram me into this seat.”

~

The weeks after Eggsy’s death passed in something of a disconnected haze. He had rewatched the footage dozens of times, Merlin’s stupid suggestion a burning, futile hope in the back of his head. Try as he might, however, he can hear nothing but shock and fury in the swearing that fell from Eggsy’s mouth as he’d fought.

He watched the footage of the retrieval team comb the wreckage to find nothing but the burnt out husk of the yacht and a small handful of bloated corpses in the galley where the service staff had become trapped and drowned. Other corpses were retrieved as well, some half burnt indicating they’d been caught in the explosion, but certainly nowhere near the number of men and women that had been on board when everything had gone to shit.

The life rafts were still attached to the remains of the hull, untouched.

The GPS of the tracker moved, and for a time Harry was nearly paralyzed with hope. Until he realized that it never left the ocean, and in fact, seemed to have a fairly wide but regular pattern. A quick search made him vomit – the pattern matched that of the bull sharks that lived in the area.

Agents all knew they had a tracker, but they were never told where it was implanted. No doubt it would cause a bit of consternation, at least these days, to know that it was tucked behind the ear, and some very highly developed gel used to eliminate scarring so as to avoid detection. Somewhere, a bull shark had ingested Eggsy’s tracker. Which meant that somewhere, a bull shark had ingested _Eggsy._

He stopped rewatching the footage after that.

He knew he had conducted the traditional toast. He knew that he’d ordered everyone to present their proposals. Those things were on record as having happened, but he didn’t have a memory of it himself.

He did remember going to Michelle Unwin and getting punched in the face. He did remember assuring her, with jaw throbbing, that Eggsy had provided for them, and they would not be left in the dire straights as they had been after Lee’s death. Lee hadn’t yet been a full agent, but Eggsy had. There was life insurance and a pension for her, though that was cold comfort when she didn’t have, once again, a body to bury.

He did recall reviewing the list of the dead and noting that _all_ the high-ranking members of that particular cartel had died with Eggsy aboard that yacht – killed in the explosion that was caused by a grenade going off next to the fuel tank. He recalled the report that detailed a number of international arrests being made as the rest of the organization fell into chaos, and various authorities world wide swooping in to take advantage of that fact. Even with his death, Eggsy had completed his mission.

The murky haze of grief finally started to lift several months after Eggsy’s death. Harry started tracking things again, and feeling something besides that awful, numb emptiness. Granted, what he felt was pain, and rage, but it was oddly better than being empty. He didn’t tell anyone that he had to review the reports and other paperwork for the last several months to know what was going on. He didn’t need anyone clamoring for him to see a grief counselor or some such nonsense. Merlin seemed to sense the change in him and approached him with a bottle of truly expensive scotch and a pair of glasses.

Harry swept his gaze over the man. “As I recall, you bought the same when you helped Eggsy ‘mourn’ me,” he said contemptuously.

“His death isn’t my fault, Har – Arthur,” Merlin argued.

“No,” Harry agreed. “But the pain he lived with before he died? That originated with you and was compounded by the rest of us following your lead. We all betrayed him, Merlin. You don’t get to forget that. You don’t get to forget that you never so much as apologized to him, that you swanned around here like your shit doesn’t stink, and he would just eventually put on his big boy trousers and get over it. He was bright, and loyal, and loving, and we all shit all over that. So you can take your booze and go back into your hole, because if you come near me again with anything that isn’t strictly Kingsman, I will kill you, and I’ll make sure it takes _days_.”

Merlin stared at him, face pale save for two bright spots of color high on his cheeks. “I know you’re still grieving,” he finally began.

Quick as a whip, Harry closed the distance, broke the bottle of scotch, and embedded the jagged end into Merlin’s shoulder. “You haven’t _begun_ to see my grief,” he promised. With a final shove, he embedded the glass a fraction further, then let go and stepped back. Without another word, Merlin staggered away.

The next day, young Lancelot showed up at his office. “May I speak with you, sir?”

“Is it Kingsman or personal?”

“Kingsman.”

“Then sit.” Harry closed the lid on his laptop and gave the young woman his attention.

“Kingsman can’t continue like it is,” she said flatly. “Everyone is aware of what happened, and everyone is terrified that you’ll kill them. Stabbing Merlin yesterday just made it worse.” She held up her hand when his eyes narrowed dangerously. “Even the rest of us agents are afraid of you, Arthur, never mind the support staff. I don’t know anyone that didn’t like Eggsy. I don’t know anyone who isn’t grieving him. For some of us, we will never get the chance to apologize the way we should have. For the rest, they’ll never get the chance to tell him that they weren’t in on it the way he thought. We’re all going to have to live with our regrets. That’s bad enough. We had two trainees withdraw yesterday when they found out Merlin was in medical because you stabbed him. They were the only two who thought withdrawing was the move that would save their lives. The other seven are convinced that they’ll be killed if they follow suit,” she said flatly, not attempting to hide or downplay a thing.

Harry sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “At least you tried to apologize,” he offered.

“Fat lot of good that did. Arthur, I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive Merlin for dragging me into the mess you two were in. I know Kingsman is here to find and deal with the threats the rest of the world can’t or won’t. And to keep doing that, Kingsman had to be saved. But dragging me into it, making me keep that secret from Eggsy against my own better judgement, playing on my affection and fears in equal measure? Part of me _knew_ Eggsy could keep playing the role of the grieving protégé. If he could play the carefree rich boy when that grief was so fresh, then he could keep pretending to it when that grief was alleviated. But I let him make me afraid that I was wrong, that he knew better, and that telling Eggsy would put all our lives in jeopardy. I obeyed,” she spat, pretty face crinkled in self-disgust.

“We all did.”

“And we all have to live with that. That doesn’t change the fact that the entirety of Kingsman lives in terror right now, Arthur. Of you. Of Merlin. Of saying the wrong thing and getting shot or knifed or even just punched. Something has to give.”

“You’re not wrong. I’ll work on it. Dismissed.”

Roxy stood and smooth the faint wrinkles from her crisp jacket and nodded. The door closed behind her with a faint click, and Harry let his head fall to rest on the back of the chair. His fingers idly smoothed over the divots still scarring the wood. Part of the problem was that Merlin should never have been left in control of Kingsman for so long. He wasn’t an agent, had only rarely been in the field, and had grown too used to having power and influence over the agents thanks to having trained most of them, and all of them ultimately being reliant on him when they were in the field. There was no other authority for agents or staff to turn to if Arthur were not available for whatever reason. And there was certainly no buffer there with Merlin and Arthur at odds, no one else with sufficient authority to counter them.

That, he decided, would need to change. They always searched out the best for their ranks. It was time, it was past time, that they gave their people the best in return.

A month after Lancelot’s meeting with him, he called for an assembly. More than half of the agents had to attend via hologram, but at least they weren’t all toasting again.

“You each should be receiving a proposal on your tablets or phones,” he began without preamble. “I am well aware of the presently intolerable situation we find ourselves in.” He nodded at Lancelot, who nodded gravely in return. “The position of Arthur, when it’s filled, has rather too much power. Whoever holds this seat is basically a dictator. The position of Merlin has, in the past, acted as council and as interim Arthur when something happens to the current Arthur. This places this organization in the hands of two people, and the rest have little recourse outside of that. If we’d had an independent advisor, neither agent nor handler, who could observe and act if needed, Chester’s betrayal and Merlin’s extremely poor handling of the threat to the organization as a whole after that, could well have been avoided. What you see before you is the outline for a new position: codename Guinevere. A psychiatrist of the highest training, who will provide mental health care for all of us, and who will have the authority to remove either Arthur or Merlin, or indeed any agent or support staff, from duty should they become compromised. They will also be a resource. We stand outside the various intelligence agencies of the world, and frankly, we’ve held ourselves as better. We may be more effective on paper, but our standard of care towards our own is sadly lacking. Take the time to read the document in front of you.” He tried to soften as much as he was capable of anymore. “This isn’t set in stone. The position will happen, but what that looks like has room for change. When we have something that we can live with, we’ll start scouting. We will reconvene in one week to discuss the proposal and clarify or change anything as needed. Agreed?”

Various nods and murmurs sounded as, one by one, the holograms winked out and the in person agents rose to leave. Only Lancelot remained. Harry regarded her with a raised eyebrow and leaned back in his seat. “Lancelot?”

“I just want to say, sir, I think this is an excellent change. And you’re right, it’s long overdue.” She stood up, tablet in hand. “I think – I think Eggsy, the Eggsy before we fucked him over, would have been proud.”

Harry swallowed and swallowed again. Unable to rid himself of the lump in his throat, he nodded. Lancelot, perceptive as she was, simply nodded back and left.

A week later, they reconvened and debated on minor points of the job description, though no one objected outright. The few objections to certain points were smoothed over with some discussion and careful rewording of the document. Once everyone agreed – and really, for this, he had to get the major players, the agents, onboard, or it wouldn’t have worked. Guinevere wouldn’t work if they encountered immediate resistance to the entire notion. Once it was signed into Kingsman law, Harry immediately called for proposals. It would take time to find their first Guinevere.

In fact, it took another four months before the scouting efforts of the knights and the thorough, _very thorough_ , background check paid off enough for Harry to make a visit to attempt recruitment.

He showed up at the doctor’s door, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, sans weapons or anything monogramed. If Dr. Annette Janeway were resistant, he wanted nothing of note on him in case she became curious. He didn’t think she would. Her former patient list had been extremely hard to find, and Harry still doubted that they’d compiled a complete list, but she had definitely counseled government and military officials from the very highest ranks. She had retired at fifty, made a brief reappearance in the aftermath of V-Day, then retired again. Covert surveillance indicated she was getting a bit restless, though whether taking on a new job would suit her or if it was just wanderlust, Harry couldn’t say.

He smiled blandly when she answered her door, appraising her neat appearance in jeans and a soft sweater, hair neatly braided down her back. “Hello, Dr. Janeway. My name is Harry Hart. I would like to ask you to take a job.”

She appraised him in return. “I retired some time ago, Mr. Hart. I don’t do speaking engagements, and as you can see, I am hardly in financial difficulties.”

“Both of which I am aware of, and both of which factored into my being here, rather than at the doorway of another psychiatrist. May I come in and tell you a little more about it?”

“If I said no?”

“Then I would leave and go to the second name on my list.”

“Flattery, Mr. Hart. Appealing to my ego?”

“No. If I thought you were that easily manipulated, you wouldn’t be on the list. My need to have this job filled far outweighs my instinct to manipulate and win.”

Her eyes crinkled in a faint smile. “I’m not sure why, but I believe you. Come in.”

Harry followed her into a living room, done in soothing tones of pale gold and blue, with lighter green accents. He took a seat in the plump armchair that she indicated and reclined back, ankles neatly crossed. “Thank you for hearing me out.”

“How much can I hear before I have to sign a stack of NDA’s?” she asked, sitting in the seat opposite him.

“Normally, I’d be having you sign one after hearing my name.” Or amnesia darting her, but same difference. “I will be blunt. I work for an intelligence organization. Not one that you’ve heard of, I’m sure. I will say that we were involved in V-Day, and our operatives were vital in keeping it from getting out of control – more so than it was.”

“Valentine was a megalomaniac with a savior complex, and an unfortunate amount of both charisma and money to draw others into his delusions,” she said, shuddering slightly. “Little has been made public, but I am aware that the few minutes of madness that so many people suffered was meant to last far longer and be far more devastating.”

 “It was. He was able to draw in our previous head, and we’ve been rather floundering since. We have high stress jobs, Dr. Janeway. We are an off the books, non-government spy organization. We are highly trained, highly skilled people, and our founders never took into consideration that we might need mental health assistance,” he said flatly. “While we are unknown, we are also powerful. Please believe me when I say, without bragging, that I could personally topple a few governments with a phone call. Doing so goes counter to our mission, our purpose, but I believe you can see the problem.”

“Tell me, Mr. Hart, what happened to the prior head of your organization?”

“He attempted to recruit one of our recent trainees into his and Valentine’s cause, and the trainee caused him to poison himself.”

“I see. And you are his replacement?”

“Unhappily so,” he confirmed.

Janeway leaned back in her seat to study him with clever, too knowing eyes. “Why did I apparently make the top of your list?”

“Your credentials are impeccable, of course. Then there’s your client list, and the fact that we couldn’t obtain the entire list, and we can’t be one hundred percent sure of half the names we _do_ have. But of those names, we were able to see that they were all in high stress jobs, extremely powerful, with the potential to hold peoples’ lives in their hands.” He smiled faintly. “None of them seemed to ever go off the rails, none of them ended up with exploded heads on V-Day. Further, you never married and don’t seem to have any close personal ties, which would allow you to uproot and move countries with relative ease, you’re financially independent and manage your money well, with no sign of any substance or gambling issues, so you’d be highly unlikely to sell out information on us or be susceptible to bribery. You were willing to come out of retirement to assist several of your former clients after V-Day, which indicates compassion. And your behavior and internet searches of late indicate a certain restlessness. A restlessness that I hope means you’re wanting a purpose rather than simply wishing to travel to exotic places.”

“So you want me to be shrink to spies,” she summarized.

“And a bit more than that. Our structure is…archaic. The head literally has all but unlimited power. There is a position that acts as advisor, but there’s nothing and no one to check either of those positions. There is a culture that demands total and complete trust and obedience, and it very nearly destroyed us.”

“I think it’s done more than nearly, at least for you,” she said keenly.

Harry closed his eyes. “Yes. Your position, if you should choose to take it, would be a bit convoluted. Yes, I believe that everyone, from agents to support staff, is likely in need of counseling. For personal reasons, for professional reasons. I’m aware that other organizations have a mandatory counseling regulation in the wake of certain events. I would like, at least as we start, for counseling to be mandatory for everyone regardless. You can’t fulfil your other purpose without a good handle on the people that comprise the rest of the organization.”

“I’m to be the safety net.”

“Yes. You would have the authority to bench anyone, from myself down to the cooks. You would be aware of all ongoing operations and be able to countermand any order that either myself or the advisor gives if you believe it would be detrimental to either agent or mission or both. You wouldn’t be expected to make calls to end anyone’s life or topple governments,” he assured her, aware enough of the oath she’d taken as a doctor to heal and not harm.

“What choice was made that spurred this change? It wasn’t just the betrayal by your predecessor,” she demanded. “I need something specific, Mr. Hart.”

“Very well. I was investigating Richmond Valentine. In the course of that investigation, my cover was blown. I still don’t know which came first – my predecessor going to his side and betraying me, or if I tipped him off and somehow led him back to my organization. Either way, I was led into a trap, a small scale field test of the SIM card signal.” He smiled without humor. “I was investigating a location when Valentine turned on the cards of everyone in that building. By the time he shut it off, I was the last man standing. I can’t claim the lives of everyone there, but certainly a large portion of them. I believe I was in a state of some kind of shock, as I simply walked outside, where Valentine was waiting with some of his people. He shot me in the head,” he tapped the scar at his temple, “and it was only his extreme hemophilia that worked in my favor. He flinched as he pulled the trigger and didn’t check the body. Still, I was presumed dead. By the time I came out of the coma and contacted HQ, my second in command had discovered that we were compromised. I wasn’t the leader then, _he_ was. He kept my survival from everyone, except for one agent. I was tasked with hunting down the group that was hunting us and dealing with it. We lost two agents due to the leak. We – I – fuck.” Harry held up a hand, rubbing his eyes with the other.

Without a word, Janeway got up and left the room, returning shortly with a glass of water.

Harry took it with a muffled thanks and gulped half of it, surprised to see the water trembling against the glass. He set it down and gripped both hands tightly together to conceal the faint shaking. “When we fill a vacant position, each agent proposes someone they know. They go through rigorous training that can take over a year, alongside a puppy that they train and raise to help build teamwork. My proposal was…different, from the usual recruits. No higher education, history of petty crime, extremely rough childhood. The final test is obeying an order to shoot their dog.”

“Are you hoping for a team of sociopaths?” Janeway said, aghast.

“No. We’re hoping to build rock solid trust. Trust in the organization, in each other. The guns are filled with blanks.” He gave her a thin smile. “It’s not as effective as we’d hoped, considering how easily swayed our leader was. It’s being reviewed. At any rate, my proposal was unable to pull the trigger. I confronted him, and we’d had some harsh words. Right before I left. He was able to watch what happened on my security feed, and not only watch me kill countless people, but then watched me die. He was also one of the three to go in and stop Valentine, and his actions earned him agent status regardless of the failed test. When the second in command found out I was alive and immediately put me to work finding and eliminating the threat to our people, he didn’t tell him. This young man, this bright, brilliant young man, who had placed his trust in _me_ so thoroughly, was allowed to grieve for me when he didn’t have to. With the justification that he would behave differently and tip off our enemies, endangering my mission. When I came back, when my mission was over, I was able to take over as head.” He gave her a thin smile. “It’s right of succession, you see. Most senior living agent takes it, unless they suffer from some sort of neurological disease. Retirement is…rare.”

“That’s hardly ideal,” she said diplomatically.

“To say the least. His best friend had been informed of my survival. Both of them kept it from him, I knew they were keeping it from him. I could have, should have, snuck home and told him myself and didn’t. I followed orders.”

“He felt betrayed.”

“With good reason.”

“Yes. How did he react?”

“He shut down. He was bright, vibrant. A little reckless, but filled with joy and good humor, with a kind word for anyone. He could be absolutely lethal if the situation called for it, but he’d always been a protector. He became cold and perfectly, perfectly professional. He stuck to codenames, refused to socialize, refused to answer casual phone calls. He was still perfect, flawless, on mission, but there was no flair. No joy. And now he’s dead.”

“Suicide?”

Harry shook his head. “No, no not that. His last mission went tits up, and he was caught with no escape route and backup was simply too far away, since all of our intel indicated his mark was well hooked, with next to no danger of his cover being blown. There was a third party present, however, and it sparked an all out gun fight – when he didn’t have so much as a paperclip with him.” He forced himself to relax his hands, smoothing them along his thighs. “He died, still feeling betrayed. I quite admit to not handling it well. And my second – he couldn’t admit to his mistake, even then. We get egos, Dr. Janeway. Too many successes, and we start to think we’re always right. Up until now, we have relied on him, or the ones in his position, to know us. These are the ones who train us, who put us through the wringer to bring out an excellent agent on the other side. They get to being able to predict, with a certain amount of accuracy, how we’ll react, what our breaking point is. Mostly, I think, because they give us those breaking points.”

“But your protégé was from a different background,” Janeway mused. “I’m guessing that most of you, at least the field agents, are of upper class backgrounds. Privileged. Quite used to things being easy or being made easy for them. Someone from the lower class has never had it easy. Rough childhood can mean a lot of things, but certainly struggling with food insecurity, possible abuse, physical or sexual?”

“Physical for sure,” Harry confirmed. “There was the suggestion that he may have been a prostitute at one point, but I never confirmed one way or the other. His stepfather beat him and made him run drugs on his behalf.”

“He already had his stressors. Your second, not being familiar with that type of life, misjudged.”

“Badly. And because he was confident that Eg – my protégé would get over it, so was everyone else. Hell, none of them had even known themselves about the threat or my survival, but with the way that they responded? Everyone was cut out. My second wouldn’t listen to me. I think my protégé _was_ planning something. I could feel it. Not suicide, but something. I honestly feared he would take down the organization, Doctor. Or at least certain members of it.” He looked at her, imploringly. “We need help, Doctor. We let him down. We can’t do that again. I don’t know if I’m a good man anymore, but I _am_ sure that my organization does good work. We’ve stagnated in old, outdated ways, and we’re suffering for it.”

“I’m your last hurrah, aren’t I?” she asked.

Harry held a finger to his lips. “Shh, don’t tell.” She smiled briefly. “In all honesty, not quite. My one other major change, besides adding your position, is to change how the leader is chosen. I think I could have been very good at it, if things had been slightly different. If we hadn’t let him down so badly. I’m too broken to do this for much longer, but if I can leave her in better shape than when I started, that will be enough.”

“You were in love with this young man. Did you ever tell him?”

“I didn’t understand it myself until the day he walked in my office and saw me still alive. After that, how could I?”

“Hmm.” Janeway crossed her legs and gazed out the window. “How many people?”

“Active agents? Two dozen. Hundreds if you include the support staff that make their jobs possible.”

“And you want one shrink to manage all of them?”

“One to start. There’s room for a team, but you’re our first choice. Triage, I’d definitely place the active agents and the two leadership positions at the top of the list. I feel I should also mention that this wasn’t quite an arbitrary decision of mine. It didn’t need to be. I presented the proposal to the agents for a vote, and there was unanimous agreement on adding it, with room for a team. A small team, granted, but still.”

“How small?”

“Six, including yourself. And each one would be vetted as thoroughly as you were.”

“I need to think about it.”

“Of course.” Harry pulled a card out of his pocket. It had nothing but a phone number on it.

She glanced at it, lips twitching slightly. “No NDA?”

“I’m comfortable taking it as read. Are you?”

“My discretion as never been because of a piece of paper.”

“Thank you.”

Harry let himself out and blew out a breath. He had hope for something, at least. He rather liked Janeway. She was smart, she showed compassion, and she was clever enough to both spot the issues they’d had long before any of them had been able to and to not agree to anything on the spot. If she came, she would be totally committed.

Four days later, she called the number and agreed.

It was a surprisingly fast operation to move her from the States into London. She agreed to let Kingsman shell out the money for professional movers, packed a couple suitcases, and flew on ahead. Once Harry had personally taken her to her new house, she gave it a cursory look and demanded to get to work. He was pleased to see her roll her eyes when he gave her the full breakdown of Kingsman. Codenames were all well and good, but it could be too easy to get caught up in the mythology of being ‘Knights of the Round Table’. An excellent ideal, maybe, but not when it got lost in the rigidity of tradition.

Merlin was the only one not at least cautiously pleased by her installation. He regarded her with thinly veiled distrust, or possibly just dislike. She was, as intended, a direct threat to his power, and though he would protest it to his grave, Merlin did enjoy the power he had within Kingsman. Janeway was not perturbed in the slightest.

Lancelot was more than cautiously pleased, she beamed outright. “Thank you, Doctor. I believe you are sorely needed here.”

“If what Harry tells me is true, you all do good work, and it will be a privilege to support that,” Janeway said sincerely.

“If?” Lancelot arched an eyebrow.

“Spies, Lancelot. I’ve encountered the breed before. Candor can be a very difficult thing when you’re used to lying.”

“Has the good doctor’s office been prepared?” Harry asked.

“Yes, Arthur. As directed.” Lancelot smiled again at the doctor. “We kept it rather basic, figuring you’d want to decorate it to your preference. But we’ve swept it for cameras and listening devices, and your desk is equipped with a jammer in case anyone tries to plant one.”

“Spies,” Janeway sighed. “I hope you won’t be offended if I do my own sweeps.”

“Not at all,” Harry assured her. “I’ll take you through our line of devices myself.”

“Thank you, Harry.”

Harry finished the tour of the manor and the facilities below, then showed her to her office. It was a floor above his, down a section of hallway that was largely unused, although kept clean as a matter of course. “I wanted you to have privacy,” he explained. “And anyone coming to see you. I thought about putting you across the hall from me, there’s an excellent space standing vacant, but….”

“Nonsense. This will do. Having me right across the hall from the boss could inhibit some from feeling free to speak. You have good instincts, Harry.” Janeway paced around the sparsely furnished office. There was a desk with an ergonomic chair, two squishy armchairs similar to what she’d had in her living room, and a small table to hold tea or other refreshments. She stopped by the desk and ran her hands along it, pausing in the middle. “The jammer?” she asked, fingering something just below his sight. He nodded. “Good. Now tell me, Harry, why do none of your people call you by name?”

“Friends call you by name. Co-workers use your title.” Harry smiled at her slightly. “Are we starting, Doctor? Are you certain you wish to waste your time on me?”

“You may find value in it. And any organization, any group, is affected by their leader. You are Arthur, the King, at least for right now. I saw some interesting dynamics out there. Roxy, for instance, both fears and respects you, while Merlin looks at you with both pity and resentment.”

“Accurate, I suppose. Although the pity surprises me, I would have hoped to kill off any softer sentiment with him. I _did_ stab him with a broken bottle, after all.”

“Do simply _tell_ me if I make you angry, please. Use your words, Harry.”

“Oh, I did. He decided he knew better and chose not to listen.” Harry settled into one of the chairs and affected a slight smirk. “Should we obtain a couch for you, doctor?”

“I’ll choose my own furniture, thanks. How did your protégé die, Harry?”

“Eggsy. His name was Eggsy.” She nodded, and he launched into a detailed description of the mission and the disastrous fight. “You can watch the mission footage, though I do warn you, it’s graphic. You also have access to all mission reports, at your discretion.”

“I’ll look at that later. Right now, I’m interested in what you didn’t put down on record. What did Merlin do that made you stab him with a broken bottle?”

Harry gave her a hollow laugh. “What he’s been doing for too long – thinking he knew best. I shut down, Doctor. I have never experience grief like that in my life. I was numb for a long time, and right when I was starting to feel again, he showed up at my door. He kept me – informed, while I was ‘dead’, of what was going on here. Of how Eggsy was doing. And once told me how much scotch Eggsy had put away with him one night, toasting my memory. He showed up with the same brand, same year, possibly even the same glasses. I was livid, very nearly in a killing rage. Like it was some recipe he’d learned! I told him to leave and never try to speak to me about anything personal again. And he tried to “ He flung out a hand towards her. “He tried to do your job! Diagnose me, treat me, as though he knew so much better, as though he had the right!”

“Weren’t you friends, once?”

“Not anymore!” He shot to his feet and started to pace, hands flexing, remembering the feel of the bottle in his hand.

“Tell me more about Eggsy. How did you meet him?”

“I knew his father. I had recruited him, a number of years ago. He was one of two finalists for the open position. Lee was similar to Eggsy. A natural protector who’d enlisted. He and the other recruit both passed the dog test, although I never mentioned that bit to Eggsy. That earned them the chance for some real field work. If one choked, they were out. If they both did well, then we would have added a new name to the roster. We were interrogating a prisoner, and I missed the grenade he’d smuggled in. We all saw the pin at the same time, and Lee shoved me out of the way to jump on it. I gave Eggsy a medal – well, I tried to give it to his mother, but she was in no place to take it. I knew we were leaving them in grief, with no explanations, and without Lee’s income. They weren’t even entitled to a military pension, as we’d pulled strings to get him out. There was a favor attached, of their choosing. Eggsy got in over his head, was facing more jail time than he was willing to do, and called it in.”

“So how do you get from getting a young man out of trouble to recruiting him for an elite spy organization that can toppled governments?”

“His history, in part. And the way he spoke when we met in person. He was – a contradiction. Brilliant grades, showing an incredible intellect, but he quit school. An Olympic quality gymnast, but he quit. Enlisted, made it halfway through training, and quit. On paper, he wasn’t a good fit.”

“So what was it in person that made you think he was?”

“His absolute, raw potential, and unstinting passion in putting me in my place.” He gave her a mostly genuine smile. “I listed his faults and mentioned how disappointed his father would be, and he shut me down so fast it made my head spin. He was spitting mad. Then his stepfather’s thugs walked in, and Eggsy urged me to leave so I wouldn’t get hurt. He had just gotten done telling me how, if he’d had the same silver spoon up his arse, he’d have done just as well as me, if not better, and I truly thought he might try to take a swing at me.”

“Justified, perhaps, with you using his father against him,” Janeway pointed out.

“Oh, certainly. And still, when those thugs walked in, he told me to leave so I wouldn’t get hurt.”

“So what did you do?”

“Left slowly enough that one mouthed off and, having just found that James had died the day before, and Lee’s son had been forced into a life of crime, I used the excuse to mop the floor with them. Then I bugged Eggsy to make sure he wouldn’t brag about the encounter to anyone and recruited him when he kept his mouth shut in the face of threats from his stepfather.” He whirled on her suddenly. “He was a protector, down to his core,” he said fiercely. “Every test, every training exercise, his first thought was how to get _everyone_ through. He could have gotten Lancelot thrown out, due to her fear of heights, but he talked her through the jump, risking his own success. I ended up in a coma for three months during my investigation, and he spent every free moment sitting at my bedside. All he wanted to do was take care of people. Everything he quit, he did for his mother, for his family. He gave up his own dreams to take the heat from his abusive stepfather off of his mother, and later his infant sister. Every step of the way, there was someone else treating him like garbage, and he was still the type to get himself arrested for stealing a car rather than run over a fox in the road. **He** was definitely a good man. And we used him, abused him, and expected him to just shrug it off like his feelings didn’t matter. You want to understand the dynamic, Doctor? The dynamic is _broken_. Somewhere, we lost our heart. I’m not capable of getting my own back, but the rest can be saved, and should be. They’re afraid of me, and with good reason. I almost planted that broken bottle in Merlin’s _neck_ and I wouldn’t have cried a single tear.”

“Did you cry for Eggsy?”

“I don’t deserve that comfort. I betrayed him as much as Merlin and Lancelot. Good day, doctor. Let me know if you need anything.” Chest heaving, Harry stalked out, very nearly slamming the door.

~

Harry didn’t directly monitor the doctor’s progress. She need only tell him something specific if there were a critical situation, and he doubted anyone besides himself likely counted as such. He did know that agents were regularly meeting with her, with greater or lesser frequency depending on their comfort levels. Save one. Merlin, even after a month, had yet to meet her after their initial introduction.

After another vague progress report where Janeway casually mentioned Merlin’s continued absence, he found himself stalking down to ops. He hadn’t been down there since Eggsy had left on his final mission. Even introducing the doctor had been done on more neutral ground in front of the hangar. The room went silent when he entered. He pointed a finger at Merlin then stabbed towards the hallway. Lips thinning, Merlin nonetheless obeyed. “This isn’t a negotiation,” he said coldly. “Guinevere is here to do a job. You _will_ go speak with her. The two of you will decide the frequency of your meetings, but they will happen.”

“Do you meet with her?” Merlin challenged.

“Yes.” True enough, although Harry refused to speak any further on his own issues. He didn’t need to get his head unkinked, he wouldn’t be around much longer. Unless Merlin planned to quit, or fucked up badly enough that Harry had no choice to but dismiss him, Merlin definitely had the need.

“So what do you talk about, then?” he demanded. “What would you talk about with a stranger that you won’t with your friend?”

“I have no friends,” Harry reminded him brutally. “And it’s none of your business. As anything you discuss with her is none of mine. This is now part of your job. Continue to refuse to do it, and there will be consequences.”

“Gonna stab me with another broken bottle?”

“No. But perhaps I’ll feed _you_ to a damn bull shark. By the end of the week, Merlin.”

His next report included the dry information that Merlin had shown up. Harry doubted they had discussed anything of significance, but he had every faith in Janeway that she had still managed to pull valuable insights from the meeting all the same.

Reasonably confident that Guinevere’s position and work were well underway, Harry turned his attention to his second task. He didn’t belong as Arthur. And the person who would inherit the position when he left, under the current system, didn’t belong as Arthur either. The man was as hidebound and classist as Chester King had been. He summoned Percival to his office, fingers tapping idly on the paperwork that would alter another fundamental part of the way Kingsman was run.

Percival came in, expression bland, and took a seat with barely a pause for an affirming nod from Harry. “Arthur,” he greeted. “I’ve seen some positive changes in demeanor since Guinevere joined us. She is an excellent addition to Kingsman.”

“Is that general consensus?”

“For the most part. There are one or two hold outs who aren’t terribly sure of both her and her position, but I feel they’ll come around in time.”

“Good. I have another change I would like to discuss with you. The position of Arthur has always been filled by the most senior agent when one has retired or died. I mean to change that,” Harry told him bluntly.

Percival raised both eyebrows in surprise. “That’s going to ruffle some feathers. Quite a lot. What new method of choosing Arthur did you have in mind?”

“The current Arthur names his successor, who must be ratified by at least a two-third majority. Support staff should also have a voice. All choices made by Arthur effect the organization as a whole. It should be the organization as a whole who should have a voice in choosing who that will be. If Arthur’s choice isn’t acceptable, one must be found that is.” Harry tossed his glasses on the table with a tired sigh. “Let’s face it, had there been a majority vote, my arse wouldn’t be in this seat. Guinevere aside, I am not the best suited for this. As your young Lancelot pointed out, the atmosphere these past months has been untenable.”

Percival cocked his head, eyes appraising. “Untenable is putting it mildly. Even the recruits were terrified of you, and I can’t say any of them laid eyes on you for more than a few seconds in passing. You have not dealt with the loss of our young Galahad.”

“No,” Harry agreed with gritted teeth. “And certainly not with the circumstances that preceded it. I will be blunt. I am done, Percival. I no long have the needed faith in Kingsman to keep going. However, I would not leave her in poor hands. Lamorak is…too much of the past. Too much like Chester King. Further, I do not believe he would have the patience for the administrative, much less the political, aspects of the position.”

“Who did you have in mind instead?”

“You,” Harry said simply. “You always treated Eggsy with the respect he deserved, and Lancelot proves you’ve a keen eye for Kingsman material without allowing things like gender to blind you. Further, you will be able to work with Merlin without allowing him to run roughshod over you, and you’ve no anger towards him to damage the working relationship.”

“So you’re self-aware enough to see how damaging your feud with him is. That’s something. Arthur,” Percival sighed, “there are five agents with greater seniority than myself. What you’re proposing will be more difficult for them to swallow than adding Guinevere.”

“Which is why I’m proposing to implement only half the change myself. I shall alter the rules of leadership so that Arthur may name his or her own heir. That heir, this time, shall be you. You will take over, and as the voice of reason, point out the benefits to Kingsman as a whole of using a method that allows for leadership based on merit rather than simple seniority, and modify it to allow the vote.”

“Neither of us shall be terribly popular. Thanks for that.” Percival stood to help himself to some of the brandy, which Harry declined with the faintest of headshakes. “You aren’t entirely wrong,” he allowed. “Certain of our comrades could well prove disastrous in the position, should they live long enough, and keep their wits well enough, to inherit the job. It’s not a terrible notion.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence. What’s left of my heart is warmed.”

“Galahad meant that much to you, did he?”

Harry traced the gouges in his desk with idle fingers. “You described my current relationship with Merlin as a feud,” he said finally. “That is too mild a term. We betrayed him, Percival. Merlin, Lancelot, and myself. The very least I can say is that Lancelot and I attempted to apologize. We recognized how wrong we were. Merlin has not. Perhaps cannot. All of Kingsman deserved to know that we were under threat. Eggsy deserved to know that I was alive. I will never forgive him for the pain he caused. I was hunting, though I could have found time to return to London and speak to Eggsy myself. Lancelot is still too green to have been able to bring herself to defy Merlin’s instruction. I am never more than a thin thread of self-control away from killing him. That he should live after betraying Eggsy so badly galls me to my very core. So yes, Eggsy meant that much to me. If I thought for a moment that killing someone, any number of someones, would bring him back, I believe I would do so in an instant. I cannot continue to lead Kingsman. Yet, for all that I can barely tolerate still being Kingsman, I cannot leave Kingsman in hands that will damage her.” He raised his eyes away from the gouges. “This is happening. I am changing the rules if succession to allow me to nominate you as my successor. You will be Arthur. After that, I can hardly stop you from doing as you will.”

“You would really retire. Kingsman has been your life for over two decades, and you’re telling me you wouldn’t even return as a knight?”

“Technically, Kingsman was also my death. Whatever I am now, I know I am not fit to be either Arthur or a knight. I simply don’t have it in me any longer.”

“Does Guinevere know? Frankly, with her ability to remove any of us from active status, there were many who have been expecting her to remove you, at least temporarily.”

“She’s aware.”

Percival nodded, swirling his brandy idly before downing the remainder in one go. “I won’t thank you for this,” he said eventually. “But I find myself unable to argue most of your points. I will, of course, do my utmost to guide Kingsman forward in the best possible direction and fashion.”

“Thank you for that. I have faith in you. As I do in few others, these days. Your present mission is reaching its conclusion, I believe. I shall make the announcement while you either finish it or prepare to hand it off, as you see fit.”

“So quickly,” Percival murmured.

“I waited only long enough for Guinevere to establish herself and at least begin to know most of you. It is time, Percival.”

“As you wish, Arthur.”

Percival was not wrong. Harry sent out the announcements. First of the change to who becomes Arthur. He gave everyone a couple of days to send in their complaints, none so loud or so furious as Lamorak, who was well aware that Harry did not like him over much, nor his social and political views. He was surprised, however, by the number of people who voiced their, albeit cautious, approval. The vast majority of the support staff agreed with the change, and half the agents. His second announcement, that of Percival as next in line, was greeted with even more approval. That announcement turned even some of the hold out agents’ minds. If the vote were already in place, Percival would have received his two-thirds majority.

Harry had nothing to pack up. He had gotten rid of most of Chester King’s things when he took up the mantel but had not had the inclination to move anything of his own in their place. Even before Eggsy’s death he had not felt quite that at home in Arthur’s seat.

He said no farewells. He had devoted his life to Kingsman, forgoing outside friendships, love, or children for her, and with Eggsy’s death, it had all become a waste. No one attempted to stop him for a final drink or heartfelt words, not that Harry would have indulged in such if anyone had. Everyone else had paled in comparison to one rough young man, and they all knew it by now. He didn’t begrudge them their relief at his absence.

His house in the Mews seemed small and empty. Mr. Pickles stared at him blankly, and he understood then why Eggsy had called him a freak for the little dog’s presence – the part of his small friend that he’d so cherished was long gone, and keeping his remains in such a fashion was a sad testament to a life empty of the things that mattered. Still, he left the little dog and all his butterflies right where they were. There was hardly a reason to change them now. His only concession to his new state of being was to comb through the house and remove every last piece of surveillance equipment that Kingsman had installed over time. She did like to keep tabs on her people, but he was no longer one of them. They no long had claim to the rest of his life, and he wouldn’t allow his grief to be archived and used as some sort of training tool or warning. He had given enough – the grief he could feel clawing at his throat, no longer willing to be shoved under numbness, anger, or duty was his and his alone.

 

 


End file.
